Hetalia Shorts
by Ally-chan1447
Summary: Chapter 2: It couldn't be the end. He could still feel a flicker of hope, could still feel his people. plz read and tell me what you think!
1. Morals

Through out his years as a nation, as a soldier who fought on the front lines but never died, as a concorer who had used his power to spread his influence, and finally as an ex-nation in possesion of human feelings, Gilbert had formed a sort of philosophy. It was what kept most of the insanity away. A long time ago, a human had told him it, during the time when he wasn't used to killing. He could no longer remember the face nor the name of the soldier, but his words and his voice had remained. At the time, it was nothing more than a sick, dark, joke. But it morphed and became his tool to keep off most of the insanity. And on nights where his nightmeres haunted him, the screams of victims would eco in his ears amd his eyes could only see the dark crimson stains on hhis hand's, he repeated it like a mantra. Over and Over again as he rode out the hallucinations.

_It's not my fault; I don't need to feel guilty._

And after his mind had calmed and the black edge of nothing called to him, he could swear he would here it. Just before he slipped into unconsiousness the old mans voice would trickle into his mind.

_Morals were made for the polititians._


	2. The Fall

Alfred had thought all night long. He was no longer concerned with escaping. That option had long sense left his mind. Tonight he was worried about what he would say before…

He had stayed up long into the night, watching the moon and repeating the same thing over and over again in his head. He was determined to get it right. Alfred had only one shot; there would be no second chances. It also kept his mind busy, kept his imaginative mind from wandering into thoughts about the morning to come.

He supposed it was his last link to sanity. To keep him from deteriorating into a mass of terror, tears, and shame. But now, as he walked behind the man in military uniform leading him by a rope around his neck, it kind of seemed silly. Pride was a thing that was no longer available to him. No, it was not something that was given or produced by a man in shackles.

As he stepped out into the morning light, he could see a crowed around him. People filled the square and the chatter he had heard from his cell was silenced by a chorus of shushes. All who were standing by the aisle turned to look at him and those behind them stood on their toes to get a look or a glimpse before they sunk back into the crowed of people. Something in him wanted to look around, to see the faces, to see the eyes, to know who had come. But he felt he lacked the inner strength to look anywhere else other than the road in front of him. But then again, he knew that he square was packed full.

It was as silent as a grave when they finally arrived at a wooden platform in the center of the square, the footsteps sounded heavy against the wood and his shackles provided a high pitched counter that rung through the air. When they finally arrived at the top, his escort turned and removed the shackles from his wrists and the rope form his neck, then moved out of view and off to the side.

Alfred kept his eyes on the wood grain, moving up and down in their pattern as another military dressed man cleared his throat and started a speech trying to appeal to the crowed, making it all official-like and almost reasonable.

"It is by the authority of the New World Order that…" but Alfred stopped listening. He didn't need to hear the excuses.

Instead he finally lifted his eyes, but he didn't look at the crowed below and around him. No, he skipped his eyes over their faces and looked up upon the clouds in the blue sky and almost instantly regretted it. It was dolefully peaceful there; he could see the vastness of it all and was reminded of his home, then his land, then his nation, and felt a terrible melancholy feeling wash through his very being. His soul ached to see the blue skies of his home stretched over the golden wheat fields. It was then in his sudden loneliness a small bird flew across his vision. The ache became unbearable and Alfred looked back down to the floor; he couldn't… no, wouldn't stand to cry now.

"Do you have a request?"

A stony voice brook into his mind and scarred him. He looked to where the voice had come from only to be met with the eyes that were as cold as the voice.

"Do you have a request?" The man asked again. Alfred looked at him in slight confusion then slowly nodded his head.

_Yes._

"What is it?"

Alfred paused again, "I… I would like to speak." _Though it might be in vain…_

The man turned to his right and walked up to a man who Alfred supposed was in a higher position, a Major maybe. The man, who Alfred now guessed to be a Sergeant, repeated the request and the Major glanced at Alfred while deciding whether or not to grant this request. He looked back to the other in front of him and mumbled a few words that Alfred couldn't hear. The Sergeant nodded then saluted and turned, walking back toward Alfred. When he reached Alfred he turned to face him.

"Permission granted."

Alfred could honestly admit he was a little dumb struck, amazed that they would let him, a nation, who still influenced some of the people's hearts, to speak. The Sergeant walked away back to his position on the stand.

Alfred paused for a moment, glancing to the Major behind him and then turned to face the crowed. It was awe inspiring. There were people every where, hanging out of windows of surrounding buildings, people crowded on the roofs, streets jammed pack, the path he had taken to get to the wooden stand was now filled with the overflow of people. He could see the cameras of one or two news stations that would be broadcasting this event into the homes and bars around the world.

He was looked around, spanning the entirety of the square, when his eyes fell upon a small child. Its ash blond head looking up at him and his green eyes staring into Alfred's intently. It was then that he realized that it wasn't over yet; that this wasn't the end.

Taking in a breath of the still air he looked out, his chest swelling in defiance. He paused just a moment longer, then, he spoke.

"In all of the history I have lived as a country, I find it is not the government that makes us great."

Alfred's eyes swept through the crowed trying to gain eye contact to those around him.

"No, I have come to the belief that it is the people who reside in it and support it that make it great. And I find the change they bring with them is what really defines it, what defines me. The want to make things better, the desire to create a more peaceful life, all of which create our and my love of freedom."

_Please, please listen. Please hear._

"And even though our government has fallen it does not mean our country has. So long as there is someone who is oppressed and desires freedom, as long as there is someone who seeks change, as long as that spirit thrives, our country will never die." He said with a solid conviction

Alfred paused, looking back to the child with green eyes who had been watching him sense the beginning. _Please understand._

"It is the spirit that is America and nothing will defeat it."

He felt a sensation rising in him then, and the flame that had sparked when he saw the green eyed child for the first time feed upon it like a starved man.

"So now I'm calling all of you out, every single one of you. All of you who desire freedom, just as it was from my birth, you must fight for it. Against those in your way, against those who are your keepers, no one will bestow it upon you; you must fight for your freedom!"

He was panting by the end. There was no reaction from the crowed, unsympathetic eyes casted upon him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was a stunned silence. Their wake up calls, so to speak. Either way nothing was said and for a moment, nothing happened and time stopped.

Then time sped up again. The Sergeant who had been standing in the corner came back in front of Alfred.

"Is that all?"

Alfred paused, a little taken aback by the man's apathetic eyes and tone. He looked back to the crowed.

"Yes."

The Sergeant walked away to go report this to his Major. A new man came to stand in front of him he was dressed in all black, defiantly not part of the Military. He reached next to Alfred and pulled a rope over and around his head. Alfred looked back to the child with green eyes as the hemp rope was cinched around his neck. The child did not look frightened, _and why should he? He has certainly seen enough…_ After the man in black finished he returned to his position on the platform.

The Sergeant came back to Alfred's side.

"Then, with out further delay," Alfred kept his eyes on the emerald ones. And the green eyes in return did not stray from his. A type of communication was passed between them then. Both knew that this wasn't the end.

"We sentence you to execution."

Then Alfred fell.

* * *

Ok, I got inspired by a dream. I was going to be hanged and a version of Al's speech, the Star Spangled Banner, and America the Beautiful running through my head. It was very odd. But after writing this I feel like writing a new fanfiction.


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